Sissy’s Prayer

blacksmith and anvilLord guide me please.  Show me your will for my life.  Help me live for you, to be a man after your heart.

blah blah blah

I just finished praying that prayer and God asked, “why don’t you ever pray for me to make your metal pure?  To burn you in the furnace and pound you on the anvil, to crush you and melt you and make you into a weapon against the enemy sure, sharp and untarnished?”
“Hmmm… that doesn’t sound very pleasant. ”
“No,” he said it isn’t, “but that is the way metal is made.”

Do we really want what he wants or do we pretend he wants only what we want.  Are our prayers really just blocking our eyes, stopping our ears, and saying “nah nah nah I can’t hear you,” to the rest?   If we only hear what we want to, are we really worshiping God as he is, or something we made up that wants what we want?

What I want most, is to fill that desperate ache within my deepest soul, the one hungry for my destiny.   As hard as a I work, and as much progress as I seem to make, it’s always just out of reach.  I’ve discovered the only way to get there is in the blacksmith’s hands, through the furnace and across the anvil.  As unpleasant as it sounds, it’s better than the alternative, the great jagged black hole in my chest that drains the energy from my life and the lives around me.

So I stopped praying the sissy’s prayer, gritted my teeth, and gave him permission to do what he needed to.  Funny thing is that the fire only burns the ropes that bind us, and I’ve never been happier.  My misery floats on the surface of a deep lake of joy and tranquility.  I will never go back – to deep misery with a little joy floating on the surface.